


Catharsis

by elanorjoy



Category: Saint Anything
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, trigger warning: assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6474082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elanorjoy/pseuds/elanorjoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Later, Layla would hug me tightly and I’d cry again. Later, Mac would hold my hands and examine those bruises before carefully kissing each one. Later, he’d talk about how grateful he was that I hadn’t gotten hurt and he’d thank my father for keeping me safe. Later, Layla would tell me how angry he’d been on the day I’d told them that Ames was moving in and how he’d been scary quiet for days afterwards. Later, I would catch the two of them whispering in the corner, Layla’s eyes flashing like a knife. Later, he would drive Layla home for a shower and a change of clothes and return with Layla humming the song from Kill Bill, one of Mac’s knuckles split, and no explanations from either of them.  </p>
<p>But for now, all I needed was the sound of his heart beneath my cheek and the gentle weight of his cheek on top of my head. In that moment, I didn’t realize the extent of everything that would follow in the coming weeks, but I did know that, no matter what happened, I’d be alright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catharsis

Of course it was Layla who noticed the bruises on my wrists first.    
  
"What the  _ hell _ ," she'd cried, seizing up one of my hands and yanking back the sleeve of my sweatshirt further, "is this?!"   
  
My wrists each sported their own spotted bracelet of bruises where Ames' fingers had dug into them. Everyone had been preoccupied enough with worry about Mrs. Chatnam that no one had noticed how I tried to subtly hide my wrists when the bruises first formed. I tried to snatch my arm back, but Layla's grip was tight.    
  
"Nothing," I replied. "They're nothing."   
  
It had been three days since the night everything happened. Mrs. Chatnam was still in the hospital, but the doctors were optimistic about sending her home before the end of the week. Ames was out of my house, which I'd conveyed to her and Mac earlier, but I hadn't explained the details of why. With everything that was going on, it didn't seem like I should make a big deal about myself.    
  
But now that her mom was stable and she'd gotten more sleep, Layla's bloodhound senses were back on track. She swatted away my attempts to pull my sleeve back over my hand and turned my arm over so she could look at the bruises more closely. They'd taken on a deep purple hue edged in green and yellow and there was no mistaking them for anything but the marks from fingers.    
  
She traced one finger lightly over one of them and her face went pale with realization. Mac, who hadn't looked up from his book when she'd first shrieked, now glanced up in response to her uncharacteristic silence. His eyes slowly went from my face, to his sister’s stare, down to where Layla's fingers were still resting against my skin, and then back up to me. He set his book down, not even bothering to dog-ear the page, as was his habit, never taking his eyes off of me.    
  
I jerked my arm back with more force and this time, Layla let me pull my sleeves over my hands. The expression on her face was like the one I'd seen the first time Rosie had called with a scare, a thin layer of calm over a broil of emotions waiting to surface.    
  
"What happened, Sydney?" she asked again and I knew there was no way I’d be able to divert the attention from me.    
  
I glanced at Mrs. Chatnam, who was sleeping and then nodded towards the door. "Outside."    
  
Layla led the way and Mac followed closely behind me, his hand resting reassuringly on the small of my back. Once we were in the family waiting area, Layla spun around her hands on her hips.    
  
"It was him, wasn't it?" Her eyes flashed as she spat out the next word, "Ames."   
  
Behind me, Mac went rigid and emotions I didn't realize I was stifling came to the surface.    
  
"He's gone," I whispered. "It's over."    
  
"What happened?" Layla asked, reaching out to take me by the shoulders. "You can't keep it in, it won't do you any good."    
  
Mac's hand was still on my back, so that I was sandwiched in Chatnams. I was safe. I was loved.    
  
I was suffocating.    
  
I ducked out from between them and sank into one of the chairs that lined the room and let my head fall into my hands. They sat in the chairs on either side of mine and watched me, waited for me to get myself together, neither one touching me, but both of them close enough for me to grab if I wanted to. I latched onto my Saint Anything pendant instead of one of them, fiddling with it as the whole story came pouring out. My attempt to sneak out, Ames catching me, how he'd pinned me against the door, the cigarette-breath kiss, how he'd wanted me to look at him, me hitting him, my scream, my dad's arm around Ames' neck and me running away to them. And then the talk with my parents the next morning, Peyton's empty room.    
  
Neither one of them touched me the entire time, though I could tell that Layla wanted to. Her eyes blazed and she was on her feet by the time I was done. I couldn't bring myself to look at Mac.    
  
"Well, I'm glad that your parents threw him out. What I wouldn't have given to be there to help!" She was flouncing about the waiting room in a whirlwind of rage. "He'd better hope, I never see him ever again,” she growled in a low voice. “I'll kill him."    
  
"Layla." It was the first time Mac had spoken since Layla saw my bruises and her blaze of fury receded at the way his voice came out. I’d never heard him speak like that, ever. Scary quiet, scary calm. And it was enough to shut Layla right up. They shared a long look and then she turned on her heel.    
  
"I'm going to go get some coffee," she said abruptly, and left, her cowboy boots clicking down the hall.    
  
When we were alone, I was finally able to bring myself to look at Mac. His expression was carefully guarded, an unfathomable emotion glowing in his eyes. We stared at each other for a long minute before I finally spoke.    
  
"Are you angry with me?" I asked. Shock painted his face and I realized quickly that it was the wrong question.    
  
"Not with you," he said in that scary quiet voice. He ran his hands through his hair and exhaled through his nose. "Definitely not with you."    
  
"Okay," I whispered back and the tears that hadn't came before now started welling up. I tried to sniff them back and that was all it took for him to drop to his knees in front of me. 

“Sydney,” Mac murmured and started to reach for me, but then pulled his hands back, biting his lip as he searched my face. When he spoke again, all the scary quiet was gone from his voice and the only thing that remained was uncertainty. “Can I?”     
  
We had been in constant contact since Friday night; his hand in mine, my arm around his waist, our heads resting together, our knees touching under the table. The only time that we hadn’t been touching was when Layla was commanding our attention instead. It had been as much for my comfort as it had been for his, although I didn’t realize it until he was withdrawing his hands from me and waiting for my permission.  

I answered his question by sliding out of my chair and wrapping my arms around him. Immediately, he pulled me close and stroke my hair while I buried my face in his shoulder and cried. It was the first time I’d let myself cry since Friday night and it felt good, the final step in my catharsis. He somehow managed to shift us so that we weren’t in the middle of the floor without letting me go. He held me in his lap until I was calm, and then for a while afterwards. 

I’d taken at least three showers, scrubbed myself raw, and brushed my teeth so hard my gums had bled to wash away the remnants of Ames’ attack, but only now did I finally feel clean. It was like my tears had washed away what a bottle of bodywash and half a tube of toothpaste hadn’t been able to and I could breathe again. 

“What do you need from me?” he asked into the top of my head once I’d quieted. Not  _ Are you okay? _ He was smart enough to know that I wasn’t okay yet and I was grateful for it. I’d known how Layla was going to react, that she would rage and threaten and burn with anger on my behalf, but Mac was unpredictable, a book I’d only read a few chapters of, although I was learning more all the time. Even so, I should have known that he’d ignore his own emotions and focus on what I needed instead. 

“This is good for now,” I said, cuddling closer to him and I felt him smile into my hair. 

“Let me know if that changes,” he whispered as his kissed the top of my head.

Later, Layla would hug me tightly and I’d cry again. Later, Mac would hold my hands and examine those bruises before carefully kissing each one. Later, he’d talk about how grateful he was that I hadn’t gotten hurt and he’d thank my father for keeping me safe. Later, Layla would tell me how angry he’d been on the day I’d told them that Ames was moving in and how he’d been scary quiet for days afterwards. Later, I would catch the two of them whispering in the corner, Layla’s eyes flashing like a knife. Later, he would drive Layla home for a shower and a change of clothes and return with Layla humming the song from  _ Kill Bill _ , one of Mac’s knuckles split, and no explanations from either of them.     


But for now, all I needed was the sound of his heart beneath my cheek and the gentle weight of his cheek on top of my head. In that moment, I didn’t realize the extent of everything that would follow in the coming weeks, but I did know that, no matter what happened, I’d be alright.  

**Author's Note:**

> Sarah Dessen is the only 'here's a story about modern, high school kids" kind of author that requires emotional catharsis in the form of fic in order for me to get over one of her books. I read Saint Anything last summer, wrote this, and it's been floating around in my drafts folder since. As it's Sexual Assault Awareness Month, I figured I'd share it. I rather liked these characters, in spite of the fact that I genuinely don't like most modern high school kids stories, and I liked writing this forgotten scene.


End file.
